


Of Love and Fools

by vionvend



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Angst, literally as mild as you can get, ooc probably, shido is a piece of shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 13:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vionvend/pseuds/vionvend
Summary: Shido would be so disappointed in him, falling, quite literally, for the enemy. And a guy, no less.





	Of Love and Fools

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday you little rat bitch
> 
> (the title is so overdramatic im sorry)

He’s seen this scene before.

Flickering street lights faintly illuminate the dark neighborhood as he makes his way home. His night shift at Rafflesia forced him to take the last train into Yongen-Jaya, and the lack of bystanders on the normally vibrant streets is eerie. They’ve never been particularly noisy, but the comforting presence of other people has always been there. He hurries towards LeBlanc, hoping to minimize the time spent in the unsettling atmosphere. However, as he turns the corner, a familiar scene plays out.

A man, stumbling towards someone who would rather be anywhere than here. A person, cornered, fending off drunken advances. Akira, a witness.

He knows that by any rational conclusion, he should leave. Turn around, take one of the many other routes home. But Akira Kurusu has never been a logical person. And he’s not about to change now.

He continues forward, the sound of a struggle growing ever louder. The streetlights don’t provide any light, and he curses his nearsightedness. Well, glasses wouldn’t help with no light. As he proceeds, he hears a car door open, and the protests nearly double in volume. He’s learned his lesson well; instead of directly intervening, he circles around, observing the situation. The headlights of the car provide some visibility, shedding light on a disturbing scene. 

Shido, holding a person against a wall, grinning maniacally. Akechi, clawing at the hands around his throat, ready to collapse. Akira, hidden in the shadows, boiling with rage.

Every sane part of him is screaming _leave him be, he’s a traitor, he’s never helped you_. But another part, the one he wants to listen to, tells him to save him, protect him, anything to make it stop. _But you’re already on probation_ , a voice whispers in his head. Are you really going to make a choice that will ruin your life?

Fortunately, Akira is the master of making bad decisions.

He knows it’ll be impossible to take on Shido by himself, especially if he has to escape with Akechi. He also knows that Akechi’s movements are slowing, and he needs to act soon.

Then Akechi drops his hands, lifeless.

Mindless rage, and pain blossoms in Akira’s knuckles as he stares down at Shido’s collapsed form. _You’ve really done it now._ He swivels on the spot, approaching Akechi, slumped against the wall. _If only you had been faster, spent less time deciding_. A fist, thrown at the brick in frustration. Blood, staining the pavement.

A small cough and the sound of laborious breathing from Akechi.

Akira stoops down, wrapping one arm around Akechi’s torso and using the other to lift his legs. LeBlanc is closer than the clinic, and he doubts he can explain this to Takemi. The door’s unlocked but Sojiro’s gone, the only sign he was ever there the lingering smell of coffee in the air and a note on the counter reminding him to lock the door. Akira can barely get Akechi up the stairs, and he internally thanks Morgana for insisting he improve his physical fitness, but the cat in question is nowhere to be seen, doubtless spending the night at Haru’s after being snubbed by the locked window.

Akira unceremoniously drops Akechi onto his bed, too exhausted to consider gentleness. He drapes a blanket over Akechi’s unconscious form, and Akira can see the telltale redness of imminent bruising encircling his neck. He decides the least he can do is make some food, so he turns the space heater on before heading downstairs to make some curry.

Akechi wakes up an hour later, in a bed that is not his own, under a blanket that is not his own, on a pillow that is not his own. His first thought is that he’s in another hotel, somewhere Shido has left him after a night of taking whatever he wants for whoever he wants and giving nothing in return. He blinks a few times, the room swimming into focus. Wooden beams, a bed that can hardly be called a bed, a desk in the corner cluttered with scraps of metal, Akira, asleep on a blanket on the floor.

Akechi’s not entirely certain, but he’s pretty sure that’s not included in a hotel room.

He can see two plates of curry on the table on the other side of the room, and a medley of spices lingers in the air. There’s also a plastic bag next to them, but the contents remain a mystery. Sitting up, he slowly tries to lower his feet without making a sound.

Akechi recognizes the place now. Akira’s bedroom, the attic above LeBlanc, home of the Phantom Thieves. A place he shouldn’t be. He’s hoping he can get around Akira, quietly enough that he won’t wake up, get downstairs, and get out, leaving no trace that he was ever there. He’s taken all of two steps before a hand shoots out and grabs his ankle, nearly tripping him. Looking down, he sees Akira looking up at him, concern written all over his face. Akechi freezes as if that’ll make him disappear, and Akira sits up, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. 

They sit there in silence for what seems like forever before Akira speaks up.

“I made food.”

Akechi glances at the plates on the table before replying. “Yeah, I was just going to wake you so we could eat together, Kurusu.” He can see Akira flinch slightly at the use of his last name, and he internally curses himself. When Akira speaks, his voice is slightly quieter than before.

“No, you weren’t. You were going to sneak out. That’s why I was waiting.”

Looking around, Akechi sees Akira’s phone, hastily wedged underneath his makeshift pillow, so he had never been asleep in the first place. Had he really been so predictable? Akechi curses himself again, and he allows himself to be steered back towards the bed. Akira thrusts a plate and spoon into Akechi’s hands and watches him until he reluctantly takes a bite. It’s good, warmer than he expected. As he continues eating, Akira pulls a chair over and starts on his own plate. He glances over every so often, likely to make sure Akechi’s still eating.

Eventually, both their plates are finished, and Akira takes them downstairs to clean. Once he’s sure Akira’s gone, Akechi starts searching the room for his stuff. His jacket is on the shelf by the bed, and almost everything is still in its pockets. The only thing missing is his phone, and a quick search of the room confirms his suspicions that Akira likely has it. He also notes that the plastic bag on the table is gone, but ignores it in favor of heading downstairs.

He can see Akira in the kitchen, apron tied around his waist, washing the dishes. His sleeves are rolled up, and water droplets shimmer in his hair. Hearing Akechi come downstairs, he turns. Akira’s face is flushed red, glasses forgotten on the stove beside him, and Akechi is struck momentarily speechless, because, _objectively_ , Akira looks stunning. He blinks a few times, staring witlessly at Akira’s patient smile, before continuing.

“Uh, I was wondering if, maybe, you had my phone?”

His voice cracks at the end, and he prays Akira didn’t notice. Judging by the small smirk that spreads over his face, he did. He pulls Akechi’s phone out of his apron pocket, turning it on and scrolling through the hundreds of notifications.

“Phantom Thieves, Shido, Phantom Thieves, Sae Niijima, Phantom Thieves, oh, did I mention Phantom Thieves?”

Akechi tries to snatch his phone back, but Akira holds it behind him, out of reach. He steps away from Akechi, swiping and guessing the passcode first try. “My birthday? How bold!” Akechi can feel his face burning, and he moves towards Akira, only to have him dart out of reach once again.

“News notifications for ‘shido’, ‘phantom thieves’, and ‘akira kurusu’.” He looks up from the phone and grins at Akechi. “Interesting.” Akechi signs in defeat and heads for the door.

“I’ll be back for my phone tomorrow. Thanks for the m-“ Akira dashes around the counter to block his path.

“No way. First, you’re going to explain.”

Akechi thinks back to what happened: Shido, curry, the phone. He decides he’d rather not. He tries to move around Akira, who obstinately puts his arms out, blocking the way. Every move Akechi makes is immediately mirrored by Akira, and he lets out a huff of frustration.

Through the glass door, he can see the sun coming up, and if he needs to get to his apartment then get to work on time, he needs to leave now. But Akira refuses to move, waiting for an explanation.

He doesn’t doubt that the situation would look strange to any passerby who happen to look in the door: the famed detective prince, cornered in a cafe by a much shorter person who is trying desperately to block the aisle. The detective in question looks down at Akira, whose determination is written plain as day across his face. He’s put his glasses back on, his brow is slightly furrowed, and his top lip is quivering slightly.

Not that Akechi was looking at his lips, no way.

The next thing he knows, he’s pulling back, face bright red, and Akira’s dropped his arms in shock. A giant grin spreads across his face as he grabs Akechi’s tie, pulling him down, pressing his lips to Akechi’s and,

oh,

this is nice.

Akira pulls back, face pleasantly flushed, and Akechi wants to live in this moment, the taste of Akira lingering on his tongue, the faint smell of coffee in the air, Akira’s hand pressed against his side, sunlight filtering in through the glass panels on the door, giving Akira an ethereal glow, the only sound that of their breathing and the faint trilling of birds outside.

The moment is broken, shattered like the sunlight on the floor, by Akira, clearing his throat, smirking at Akechi.

Akechi is not sure how he got here, why he’s still here, but he is pretty sure that Goro Akechi, detective prince extraordinaire, may have a bit of a crush on Akira Kurusu.

He’s definitely sure that Akira Kurusu, Phantom Thief extraordinaire, has a huge crush on Goro Akechi.

And he’s okay with that.

It’s nice, sitting together in LeBlanc, coffee brewing nearby. It’s nice, having Akira’s head on his shoulder, curly hair tickling the side of his face. It’s nice, drinking coffee with a sprinkle of cinnamon, the foam in the shape of a heart. It’s nice, feeling Akira’s feather-light touch as he blends makeup into his neck, hiding harsh bruising.

(“So you’re telling me that you ran out to the store in the middle of the night.”

“Yep.”

“To get makeup.”

“Yep. Mine was too light.”

“Yours? You have makeup?”

“It’s a recreational hobby. Anyways, my foundation was too light, so I had to buy some. It’s only drugstore quality though, sorry.”

“…will I ever get to see you with makeup?”

“Sure. It even comes with a maid costume!”)

It’s nice, having a place to come back to, a place with warmth and coffee and Akira.

He’s not sure how he’s managed to get this much in so little time, he sure as hell he knows he doesn’t deserve it. How one goes from living to nearly dying to

(he can feel Akira’s breath, warm against his chest)

living.

And all too soon, the sun’s up, LeBlanc’s open, Akira’s walking him to the station, dragging his heels the entire time because he doesn’t want to go so does he really have to? Can’t he just stay here? He’s almost convinced Akechi by the time the train arrives, but eventually, he has to reluctantly release Akechi’s hand in favor of a light kiss on the cheek. Akechi can feel his face burning, and he glances around quickly, hoping no one was watching.

When he turns back to Akira, he can see the smirk dancing on his face moments before he’s pulled down for the second time that day, and maybe, maybe, he can get used to this.

All too soon, the train comes, and he has to leave, promising he’ll be back as soon as he can.

It takes less than two minutes for Akira to text Akechi.

> i miss you

< I’ve been gone for two minutes

> two minutes too long!

< I said I’d be back after work!

> D:<

> :(

> D:  
> but i miss you!

< …  
< ( ˘ ³˘)♥

> （　ﾟДﾟ）  
> ♥‿♥

Akira can feel the grin spreading across his face as he makes his way through Yongen-Jaya. LeBlanc is open, and he rushes through to grab his stuff before running back to the train station. He hasn’t slept all night and at this point, he’s running purely on adrenaline, but he doesn’t care. His head is in the clouds all day, which very nearly gets him slapped by Ryuji, but he doesn’t care because when he gets home, Akechi will be there, waiting for him.

Akechi doesn’t fare much better. He starts the day off strong by zoning out and overflowing his coffee mug before nearly running into not one, not two, but three people on the way back to his office. He continues his winning streak by knocking over his mug and staining the stack of papers on his desk, and by midday, he’s gotten nothing done. Not that he minds.

Akira spends his lunch break with the rest of the Phantom Thieves, but he neglects the conversation in favor of watching his phone. He hears the others attempt to engage him, but he ignores them. At one point he feels Ryuji nudge him repeatedly, and he nods without really listening to what he says, more preoccupied with responding to Akechi’s latest text.

After what seems like forever, it’s time to go home, time to meet Akechi. The trains seem to be running in slow motion, and Akira can feel his impatience getting the better of him. Finally, he gets to LeBlanc, and peering through the door, he can see Akechi at his usual seat, reading one of his many files. The rest of the shop is empty, save Sojiro starting a new brew of coffee. Perfect.

Pushing open the door, he saunters towards Akechi, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Leaning down, he whispers into his ear, “Honey, I’m home.”

He pulls back, beaming at Akechi’s reaction. The detective’s face is bright red, and he can see the shock in his eyes before he abruptly stands up, pushing his seat backwards and grabbing Akira’s hand to drag him up the stairs. As he passes, Akira waves at Sojiro, who only stares after them in exasperation.

As soon as they’re both in Akira’s room, Akechi turns to face him. Akira smirks up at him, sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue cut off by Akechi’s lips against his.

They’re warm, the faintest hint of coffee remaining on his tongue, cinnamon on his breath. He’s pushed backwards until he’s against the wall, hands grasping at his waist.

It’s strange, not being the one in control. Not that he dislikes it.

He can feel himself being pushed down, Akechi gradually growing more confident, and he pushes back. They stumble towards his bed, hands scrabbling for purchase, and he pushes Akechi down onto the bed. Placing his hands on either side of his head, Akira leans over him.

He doesn’t have a chance to react when Akechi wraps his arms around him, pulling him down. Akira’s never really liked cinnamon. But maybe things can change. 

Akechi’s hands wander, trailing down his neck, reaching under his shirt, nails lightly grazing his skin. Maybe he can learn to love cinnamon.

Akira swears the cafe isn’t usually this busy, especially immediately after school on a weekday. He shrugs it off, more preoccupied with Akechi, who’s somehow shed his jacket. His mouth doesn’t suddenly go dry, no way. That would be terribly suspicious.

Akechi takes advantage of his momentary surprise, grabbing his shoulders and switching their positions. He likes this better, him looking down and being in power for once in his godforsaken life, Akira flushed and deliberately avoiding eye contact underneath him.

His lips are soft, unfairly soft, muted notes of cherry lip balm barely there. Akechi could live in this moment, all tangled limbs and shared warmth. And maybe he can.

(No he can’t.)

He doesn’t see Sakamoto enter the room, but he definitely hears his loud exclamation.

“What the fuck, guys?”

Akira sits up slightly, not once breaking contact with Akechi, and flashes a peace sign at Ryuji. Akechi leans away in slight confusion before he comprehends the situation and leaps away as if electrocuted. Face bright red and stammering, he edges away from Akira. Smirking, Akira glances at Ryuji before quietly whimpering, staring at Akechi with a pout, and watching him struggle to decide if he should go back to Akira like he so desperately wants, or move away again.

His affection wins out, and he moves closer to Akira, wrapping one arm around his side. Akira can see Ryuji flash them a look of annoyance before heading back downstairs, likely to inform the rest of the group. He knows he probably has to deal with that at some point, but he chooses to ignore that problem for now.

All too soon, Akechi’s breaking away, pulling his jacket onto him, standing up. Akira just watches, content to stay on the bed and not face his friends’ wrath. Akechi looks over and sighs, muttering something about a “lazy boyfriend” that earns him a pout, which in turn causes him to stick his tongue out, which gets him Akira latching onto his back and refusing to let go.

He doesn't really mind, Akira’s arms wrapped around his neck, sleeves hiding his hands, warm breath tickling the back of his neck, angry muttering about how he just wants to go back to bed.

Akechi, for his part, appreciates that Akira’s making this so easy for him. He's not entirely sure that he could carry him bridal style, especially down a flight of stairs. He's also not entirely sure how Akira did it.

They’re greeted with Makoto’s reproachful voice, ready to scold them — mostly Akira.

“How long have you been dating?!”

Akira fumbles in the jacket pocket and checks Akechi's phone before thinking for a moment. “9 hours and 42 minutes.”

He can hear the Phantom Thieves’ shock but ignores it in favor of letting go of Akechi and taking a seat, grabbing him again as soon as he sits down.

“I-is that Akechi's coat?” Makoto’s voice is strangled, disbelieving. Haru’s face mirrors similar disapproval, and from what Akira can see of Futaba-

“Are you growling?”

Futaba straightens up slightly, peering out from behind Yusuke. “No way! That was Inari!”

Yusuke turns to face her, bewildered. “It was not. I would never do something so immatu-”

Futaba slaps a hand over his mouth, effectively cutting off the rest of his sentence. Akira grins before replying. “So was that a yes, or...”

Makoto interjects, frantically trying to get the conversation back on track. “How did this even happen?!” Her voice is desperate, broken, and Haru wraps an arm around her, consoling.

The death glare she sends their way is enough to make Akira cower, shrinking behind Akechi.

“I-it wasn’t my fault! He wasn’t standing up to Shido and he was in danger, so I may or may not have brought him back here and taken care of him! Maybe!” Akira’s words are rushed and he watches the others’ faces, ready to dive back behind the detective. 

Ann’s carefully controlled facade slips, and she stands, fists balled in rage. “So you’re telling me that Akira Kurusu, leader of the Phantom Thieves, fell for Goro Akechi, the person destined to betray us?” Her words drip with poison, and the smile on her face is cold, entirely uncompassionate. When she laughs, it’s cold, heartless, every bit the merciless rogue she plays in the Metaverse.

All too late, Akira sees her raised hand, hears the gasps of the other thieves, sees Ryuji reach for her, and he closes his eyes, curling into the coat he wears, waiting for an impact that never comes. He cautiously squints, and seeing Ann frozen in shock, he looks up.

Akechi stands in front of him, arms out to either side, red mark already appearing on his face.

He brings one hand to his face, gently pressing at the area, checking for any bleeding. Feeling a wet spot, he turns to Akira, who immediately grabs his face with both hands, turning his head and checking for any new injuries. Spotting the trickle of blood from a recently reopened wound, he lets out a sound of distress and quickly pulls up the sleeve of the coat he wears to dab at the cut.

“Goddammit, I just put this makeup on…”

Tilting Akechi’s head up, he uses the sleeve to wipe off the remaining blood that has trailed onto his neck, mixing with the near-white foundation to make a bright pink hue, rivaling the blush rising on Akechi’s cheeks. Suddenly releasing his face, Akira forcefully taps him on the head, making him sit, before sprinting up the stairs. Akechi and the Phantom Thieves watch his retreating figure in shock and the tension in the room ramps up upon his absence.

Okumura, whose arms are still protectively wrapped around Niijima, leans back, around Kitagawa, who’s leaning forward sketching on a scrap of paper, and directs her icy glare towards Akechi. Avoiding her intimidating scowl, he swivels in his seat and feigns sudden interest in the napkins lying before him.

He’s resorted to methodically shredding one into pieces when Akira returns, arms full. Everyone’s eyes are immediately glued to him as he deposits four vibrant red brushes onto the counter, absentmindedly humming a lilting tune. He entirely ignores Ryuji’s confused muttering in favor of tapping a fifth brush on his chin, using his other hand to tilt Akechi’s chin.

Leaning forward, Akira moves one leg to kneel on Akechi’s, allowing him to get closer. He pays no mind to the embarrassed blush rising on the detective’s cheeks, more concentrated on the task at hand. Deciding he has to get even closer, he straightens out his leg and brings the other to his side, and Akechi’s heart skips a beat.

Akira’s on top of him, so close he swears he can feel his heartbeat in the small gap that separates them, and if he looks down, he swears Akira was wearing a shirt under the jacket before he left. He leans back, hoping to put some space between them, hide how flustered he is, anything to keep the situation from escalating out of control.

But of course, it isn’t that simple.

The moment he leans back, Akira moves closer, causing him to fall forward, which makes Akechi lift his elbows from the table to wrap his arms around him and stop his collapse but then they’re both falling and Akira’s on top of him and oh god they’re too close.

Akechi’s content to stay like this, Akira on top of him, arms wrapped tightly around his boyfriend.

(Shido would be so disappointed in him, falling, quite literally, for the enemy. And a guy, no less.)

He shakes his head, dispelling any thoughts of his repulsive father, choosing to concentrate on the feeling of warmth slowly spreading through his body. The illusion is shattered, torn like the pieces of napkin still behind him on the counter, as Sakamoto, annoying as always, opens his mouth.

“Uh, can you not?”

Akechi supposes it is a bit of a compromising position, Akira straddling his lap and pinning him to the table. If he tilts a bit to the left, he can see Niijima’s face buried in her hands, an attempt to hide herself from view while simultaneously averting her eyes from the situation. Okumura and Takamaki have the same hostile glower on their faces, and Sakamoto’s expression flickers between disgust and irritation. Sakura’s forcibly distracted herself with Kitagawa, eyes subtly flicking over to check the situation every so often.

Feeling something wet dripping down his chest, he looks down to see Akira gently wiping away any traces of blood and makeup. His eyes are sharp, focused, and pale fingers gently prod at bruised purple skin. It would be nice, but he can feel the feels of the rest of the group boring holes in Akira’s back, and it ruins the mood. Slightly.

He can sense the patience in the room running out, the way Sakura’s glances become more frequent, the way Sakamoto perches on the edge of his seat, the way Okumura’s glare starts to narrow. It makes his skin crawl, itching to pull Akira down, wipe that smirk off his face, throw the room into chaos. He wouldn’t, of course.

But Akira will.

He leans down, nails digging into Akechi’s arms, and bites down on the side of his neck. He can hear a stifled squeak above him, and he grins. Pulling back, he can see the marks he’s left on fragile skin, a lasting memory, a new mark to add to the ring of bruises already surrounding his neck, proof that Goro Akechi, idyllic detective prince, is taken. Perfect.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he’s pulled away from a dazed Akechi, snarling. Ryuji huffs with exasperation, dragging Akechi outside and leaving Akira and the rest in shock. “Don’t expect me back.”

Akira moves to follow them, intent on avoiding any conflict, but he’s stopped in his tracks by Haru reaching out to grab him, fury blazing in her eyes. Hearing the bell jingle, immediately followed by the slamming of the door, he gives up and resigns himself to the endless reprimanding he’s doubtless about to receive.

Outside, Akechi’s having the time of his life. Pinned against the wall, Sakamoto breathing down his neck, bystanders glancing their way before hurrying away. 

“You know, it was equally fun the last time this happened to me.”

Sakamoto pauses long enough for Akechi to pull one of his hands away from his shoulder, which earns him a bit of freedom. He looks irate, Akechi notes, confusion tainting his expression, and he glances down before going on.

“Whatever. I don’t care about you two, just, don’t ruin this for us.”

Akechi blinks. That was kinder than he had been expecting, and the snide comment he’s prepared dies in his throat. Before he can even contemplate an appropriate response, Sakamoto’s walking away, pulling out his phone as he goes.

A wave of tiredness hits him, and Akechi sinks to his knees as he watches Sakamoto’s retreating figure. His eyes start to flicker shut, and he suddenly regrets, for the first time, staying up all night. Taking a nap right there on the ground seems decently appealing, and he seriously considers it for a moment.

Closing his eyes, he nearly misses Takamaki, who strides by, barely acknowledging him curled up on the ground. His half-hearted wave in her direction is entirely ignored as she disappears around the corner, iciness nearly tangible.

It’d probably be a good idea to check on Akira, given that the last time he saw him, Okumura looked ready to murder him, figuratively and literally. He considers his options. On one hand, he can take a nap. On the other, he can check on, and likely rescue, his idiotic boyfriend.

He staggers to his feet, keeping one hand on the wall for support. Pulling one all-nighter was usually fine, but staying awake for three nights in a row had definitely not been a good idea. A hand reaches out to steady him, and Akechi realizes that Kitagawa and Sakura have joined him outside.

“Are you alright?” Kitagawa’s voice is coated with concern, and he moves to support Akechi’s shoulders. In the background, Sakura makes a disgusted noise, crossing her arms.

“Do you really have to help him, Inari?” Her voice drips with disgust, and Akechi quickly pulls himself away, dusting off his clothes.

“Ah, thank you, Kitagawa-kun.”

Yusuke smiles, his expression blinding. “Call me Yusuke.”

“Yusuke.” He smiles too, name rolling off his tongue naturally.

Sakura cuts in, verbally and physically, moving to stand in front of Yusuke. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” She points at Akechi, finger only inches from his chest. “Don’t hurt my brother, or I’ll kill you.”

“Your brother?”

Her response is cut off by the chime of LeBlanc’s door. She glances over and turns back, smirking. “Good luck surviving Haru!” They leave together, Yusuke pausing to press something into Akechi’s hand before following Sakura.

He doesn’t have time to check what he’s been given before he’s pinned to the wall for the third time that day.

It’s astonishing how someone nearly half a foot shorter than him is capable of grabbing his neck with such strength, but Okumura surprises everyone once again. When she speaks, her tone is quiet, yet vicious.

“You lay a finger on Akira and I’ll rip you limb from limb.”

Akechi almost wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, a tiny girl holding him by his neck against a building, inside which his boyfriend is, presumably, sulking.

Some of his amusement seeps onto his face, and her grip tightens. “Don’t test me.”

This time, he finds himself unable to breathe, which is significantly less entertaining. His savior comes in the form of Niijima, who rushes outside, bag haphazardly thrown over her shoulder, and pries Okumura’s hands away from his neck.

He supports himself against the wall again, taking deep breaths of precious air. Niijima’s wrapped her arms around the smaller girl, murmuring quietly as her anger subsides. She glares at Akechi before guiding Okumura away, whispering calming words as she goes.

Realizing that everyone’s left besides him and Akira, Akechi rushes back inside.

He opens the door to a pacing Akira whose fingers tap a steady rhythm on the book he holds.

“Yusuke gave me something.” His voice rings out in the now silent cafe, Akira having abandoned his book in favor of staring daggers at him.

“Oh really?” His words drip with acid. “Show me.”

He unfurls the paper, revealing a small sketch of himself and Akira, seated together. “It’s a drawing of us.”

“That’s nice.”

Akechi sighs. “What is it?”

“What is what?”

He gestures vaguely in Akira’s direction. “This.”

“It’s not fair!”

It’s not fair that he got nearly killed? It’s not fair that he got a drawing from Yusuke? It’s not fair that he got yelled at by all of the Phantom Thieves? Akechi scrambles, trying to figure out what exactly Akira could be referring to.

Fortunately, he clarifies. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to pin you to a wall and threaten you!”

It’s absurd, after everything that’s happened, and maybe his exhaustion, but Akechi can’t stop laughing, even when Akira pouts at him, clearly annoyed by his reaction.

“I’m serious!”

The laughter ceases, and he’s still breathless when he speaks. “Am I allowed to pin you down?”

Akira’s face flushes red, and he stammers.

“What if I —” He moves closer to a flustered Akira, wrapping one arm around him before sweeping him up.

He’s heavier than expected, and Akechi almost regrets his decision, but he commits to his actions and makes his way to the stairs. How on earth had Akira managed to carry him all the way here?

They barely make it across the room. Akechi unceremoniously lets Akira roll onto the bed, face still blazing bright red.

“What’re you doing?” Akira’s voice is squeaky, and he refuses to make eye contact.

“We’re in bed, so I believe we have two options.” A smile spreads across his face.

Akira’s face reddens even more, and he looks away, covering his face with his hands.

“A nap it is! Unless you want to do otherwise?”

Akira’s arms wrap around him, pulling him down into the covers. “A nap it is.”

The quiet is comforting, Akira’s breaths steadying by his ear, warmth enveloping his body, the sun beginning to set outside the window.

Akechi’s almost asleep when an idea occurs.

“Can we get crepes tomorrow?”

**Author's Note:**

> you know i had to include a reference to akechi's sweet obsession
> 
> let's play my favorite game, "guess where vi gave up and just scrambled to finish this"!  
> (i might edit this at some point maybe)
> 
> hmu on tumblr/insta/twitter @vionvend  
> pleas, ,, , i need friends


End file.
